When the Goddess Wakes

by Howard Andrew Jones

  The chieftain’s newly harshened voice could barely be heard over the murmur from those surrounding. “I want no favors from a woman.”

  Vannek’s face flushed, but he kept his voice level as he moved within whispering distance. “I don’t need gratitude. I need officers. Find your sense, and then we can talk.” Seeing Anzat’s burning gaze fix upon the mage, he added: “He is not for you to deal with.”

  Vannek addressed the group at large. “I expect your evening reports in my tent the next hour. This talk of succession is concluded.” He turned sharply, offering his back to Anzat, both as insult, and to demonstrate his fearlessness to the onlookers, who parted before him. Vannek heard his bodyguard fall in behind, and from a second set of footfalls knew Muragan came after.

  He didn’t acknowledge the mage’s presence, in part because he wanted to demonstrate his confidence, and in part because he was uncertain what Muragan was after. Vannek held little actual power, and his grasp upon it was tenuous. Surely the mage understood that. So, how could his grandfather’s advisor stand to benefit from backing him here?

  Once returned to the tent that had belonged to his brother Chargan, Vannek found his men-at-arms setting out the evening meal. As the two bowed near the fold-away camp table, Vannek idly wondered what had happened to the Dendressi woman his brother had slept with, the one who’d laid food for him on this very table two days previous, before the battle that killed her captor.

  “Food’s been readied for you from the remaining stores, Lord General,” the shorter of the servants said. “But your cook’s dead, so we had to make do, sir,” he finished quickly.

  “I need no fineries.” As Vannek sat on one of Chargan’s stools he realized it was cushioned, making mockery of his declaration. He decided to divest himself of the soft furniture later, rather than call further attention to the incongruity. The tall bodyguard, stationed now to one side of the tent opening, eyed the mage with suspicion as Muragan entered and bowed.

  Vannek raised a staying hand to the bodyguard, then motioned Muragan forward. The men-at-arms deposited a final platter of salted meat along with some soft cheese and dried fruits upon the table, then poured wine into a goblet.

  “What’s this?” Vannek demanded. “Don’t we have any ale?”

  The men-at-arms exchanged a look. “Your pardon, Lord General,” the elder of them said. “We assumed you’d want Chargan’s—”

  “Just ale tonight.”

  “Yes, Lord General. Forgive me.” One set the bottle and goblet aside while the other fumbled in the little cabinet and pulled out a rams-head stoppered jug decorated with silver filigree. From it he poured liquid into a bowl, which he then set beside the meat. Clearly his brother’s containers would have to be replaced along with the furnishings. He waved the servants away. They bowed themselves out.

  Vannek hadn’t noticed how hungry he was until the scent of the cheeses struck him. He’d thought he was only tired, and pained, both from the injury to his ear and the bumping he’d taken from the dragon’s bad landing. He understood now he was ravenous.

  He didn’t let this weakness show. Instead, he unsheathed his knife and turned it. He wondered how long the mage would keep silent. Not much longer, as it turned out.

  “This isn’t what I expected to find,” Muragan said.

  “Oh?” Vannek said casually. “What did you expect?”

  “Chargan promised the end to Darassan power. But I hear every man in the army has pledged themselves to a Dendressi doxy instead.”

  How tiresome. “That ‘doxy’ bested Chargan and both his wizards in single combat, then sucked down his magic and swept us from the walls. This earns Elenai Halfsword an insulting name?”

  He grunted noncommittally. “You sound as though you admire her.”

  “I thought I made clear I’m done with idiots, Muragan.” The mage nodded as if with approval, which soured Vannek’s mood further. “Have I passed some test of yours?”

  The mage stepped to within four paces and dropped his voice. “What do you plan?”

  Vannek set the blade down beside the food and answered in a level, careless voice. “Why should I tell you?”

  “I was one of your grandfather’s chief advisors.”

  “And what are you now? Why are you here?”

  “When Mazakan fell, I rode as swiftly as I could to join Chargan. I mean to serve Mazakan’s successor.”

  Vannek waited and ignored his grumbling stomach. “Chargan told me some of our kings survived the battle. Why didn’t you ride off with them?”

  “They’ve no doubt returned to their own lands to wrestle for power. It’s as you said just now. Our alliance will crumble without Mazakan to hold it together. Unless…” He let his voice trail off and stared pointedly at Vannek.

  “I’ve no interest in marching into each of our realms to beat the tribes into submission. You can tell the kings that.”

  “I don’t serve the kings.”

  “Oh?” A spy for any one of them would certainly say the same thing.

  The wizard’s chin rose proudly. “I serve your family alone.”

  “Why?” Vannek asked. He indicated the tent flap beyond the motionless bodyguard. “Why not ride away? Go serve the strongest king. I’ve pledged to fight for Elenai Halfsword.”

  “And she’s promised to lead you to victories?”

  “She has. As I’m sure you know.”

  “The Altenerai hold to their pledges,” Muragan said, as though they should be pitied for it. “What will you earn for your service?”

  Vannek didn’t answer that. “You’re wearying me, and I’m hungry. I still haven’t heard how you can be of use to me.”

  “Very well,” Muragan said. “Your grandfather knew when it was time to be blunt, too. And he led me well. You may not know that I’ve traveled Dendressi lands for years, learning their secrets. Cultivating useful connections.” He shifted into a convincing Dendressi manner of speech. “There are things you may not know. Have you heard the fae lost their queen this day?”

  “I have.”

  “Did you know one of their altens, called Rylin of the Thousand, attacked that queen, landing a mortal wound, but she did not die? Though he single-handedly slew her most powerful sorceress acolyte and half a dozen of her followers, she fled through mysterious magics with many more.”

  Vannek pretended to show no reaction to this news. “You may cease with the accent. These accounts are true?”

  His voice returned to its normal inflection and timbre. “Verified through numerous reliable sources. The Dendressi are not so frivolous as our tales hold, and their Altenerai, though strange, are more deadly than any single man among us. But more importantly, their old queen lives to wield a power beyond any we’ve known. She abandoned this place rather than turn her great powers against Chargan, taking all the hearthstones she’s been hoarding. Do you know what those are?”

  “Trinkets mages use for power. What does she intend?” Vannek no longer pretended disinterest.

  “They’re more than trinkets, but that’s a tale for another time. No one knows what the old queen intends, or at least, no one here.”

  Vannek had wanted the answer and was disappointed that the mage lacked it. He waited for the man to continue.

  “You said the Dendressi are strong because they never war among themselves, and that was true for centuries. But they have split into two groups. The queen and her side imprisoned N’lahr and claimed he was dead. Now N’lahr’s faction, led by Elenai, has captured Darassus. If you wonder where she means to lead you, I think you can guess.”

  “Against the old Dendressi queen, the one named Leonara,” Vannek said. “How soon?”

  “That I do not know. But I can learn,” he added.

  “Interesting,” Vannek said. “All right, Muragan. What is it you want from me? A mage who served my grandfather would be welcomed by any of the Naor kings. And you may be the last one of any real skill.”

  “I’m done with Naor l
ands,” Muragan said. “I don’t want to slink back to the cold and dark to prop up kings while they fight for bones. It’s as you said. There’s more to be gained here.”

  “In that we concur.”

  “You have a plan, I know it.” His eyes begged for further information.

  “I do,” Vannek said.

  “But you won’t share it, even with a friend?”

  “No. Not yet. And I have no friends, Muragan.” He eyed him to emphasize the difference in their station.

  The mage bowed in acknowledgment.

  “I welcome an advisor who will help me protect my people and see them prosper.”

  Muragan grunted. “You must keep Elenai from throwing the lives of your people away in her fight.”

  “You state the obvious.”

  “And you don’t truly control a people. You have only warriors. There are no homes, or craftsmen, or farms to feed them. You need them to grow a kingdom. And there are no women.”

  Vannek braced himself to hear an insult about his gender, but none came. “I’m aware of all this.” He glanced at his meal. “I will have you,” he said finally. “I want to know more from you. But now I’m going to eat. Find my servants and have them assign you lodgings, and food. We’ll talk again when you’re settled.”

  Muragan bowed his head and started to turn away.

  “Oh,” Vannek said, as though it were an afterthought. “You must be swifter to obey, in the future. If you’d slain Anzat, I would have killed you.”

  “I meant to demonstrate my loyalty.”

  “And your power. To impress me with theatrics. I’m not so simple. My position…” Vannek thought to elaborate and then decided against further explanation. “I must rule through my own strength. Is that clear?”

  “I understand, Lord General.” Muragan bowed his head.

  “See that you do.”

  3

  Breakfast with the Queen

  No matter the clean, crisply turned linens and inviting fluffy pillows, the chambers of Elenai’s new Altenerai suite seemed more museum than home, from the cavernous rooms and the heavy old-fashioned furniture with their detailed carven flourishes, to the wide empty bed. The dark wood paneling that lined the walls drank in the light.

  She wondered about the long generations of men and women who’d called these rooms their own, and she decided against looking at it through the inner world lest she encounter some haunting remnant of the previous occupants. Besides, she was exhausted. Somehow, after everything else, she and N’lahr had managed to draft a letter to the Naor leader suggesting they conference in the morning, though honing its phrasing had briefly appeared one mountain too many.

  She dropped into a bedside chair to remove her boots just before a glowing woman shimmered into existence on her left. Elenai’s heart leapt, and she leaned away even as she recognized the transparent intruder for Rialla, a short, wide-hipped woman with a high forehead, wearing a khalat hooked all the way to her collar. The apparition’s brows were creased with worry.

  “He has to jump left,” Rialla said. Her voice possessed an odd, hollow quality, less substantial than at their last encounter.

  “What?” Elenai could scarce believe Rialla had reappeared only to repeat herself.

  “Kyrkenall has to jump left,” Rialla insisted.

  “He has to jump again?” Elenai asked.

  “I don’t understand you.”

  “He already jumped left,” Elenai explained. “Off the Naor dragon. That’s what you’re talking about, isn’t it?”

  Rialla’s puzzled expression hadn’t cleared. Elenai struggled to clarify with more information. “We already had that conversation, in a dream. I got him to jump left. Is there anything else you can tell me?”

  “In a dream?” Rialla sounded thoughtful.

  The alarm of Rialla’s appearance had been eclipsed by growing frustration. How could she have forgotten how difficult Rialla could be? “Look, there’s so much you can tell us. Do you know where the queen is? How to stop her?”

  “I am with the queen,” Rialla said.

  Elenai felt a chill down her spine. Did Rialla mean she was in league with Leonara, or that she expected Elenai to be queen? She swallowed. “I’m trying to find Queen Leonara. Do you know where she is?”

  “We’ll talk again,” Rialla said, and winked away just as suddenly as she’d appeared.

  Elenai swore, using words that would have shocked her only weeks before. Then she put a hand to her temple and spoke Kyrkenall’s name like it, too, was a foul word, for repeatedly exposing her to so many of them.

  Finally, she gathered her energy reserves and opened herself to the inner world, then stared around the room with trepidation.

  Naturally, she found no sign of Rialla. Nor did she perceive vaporous forms of any of her predecessors, khalat wearing or otherwise. Frowning, she looked away from the inner world and finished readying for bed.

  It wasn’t until she was in the sheets that an important observation occurred to her. Heavy as her eyelids were, she lay staring into the dark in consternation. She’d assumed Rialla was centered upon her because she was using the alten’s favorite hearthstone. Yet Rialla had found her, even with the artifact shattered. Did that mean her possession of the hearthstone hadn’t contributed one way or the other to the ability to communicate with the long dead alten? What did any of this mean as far as Elenai’s own glimpses of the future? Were those, then, as N’lahr believed, something innate her exposure to the hearthstone had unlocked?

  She could think of no way to know for certain, not without asking Rialla, who only ever seemed to have time for her own concerns, primarily involving Kyrkenall’s continued existence. She had once voiced alarm about the end of the world, but that might simply be because Kyrkenall required a world to live in.

  Elenai tired of mysteries and left them behind as she drifted at last to sleep.

  Morning dawned sooner than she would have liked. She woke to a steady rapping, and groaned. She forced herself up, groaning again as she registered pains she’d ignored last night. Maybe this is what it feels like to be old, she thought, and to the insistent knocking on the outer door she shouted she was coming even as she threw on a shirt and pulled on uniform pants. She pushed hair back from her face and stumbled to the door, only to find a nervous first ranker, his face swollen around a gash sewn closed above his right eye.

  At the sight of him, Elenai’s ill humor vanished, and even as she returned his crisp salute she pointed to his face. “That looks like it hurt.”

  “It was a glancing blow from a Naor arrow, Alten,” the squire said. “I scarcely noticed it at the time.” He gingerly touched the edge of the wound and withdrew his fingers. “I’m sorry to disturb you.” He adopted a more formal tone as if reciting lines. “Councilor Brevahn wishes to join your meeting with the Naor general this morning, and asked your indulgence for a preparatory conference at eight bells.”

  Could he do that? she wondered. And then realized yes, of course he could, because the three surviving councilors were the highest-ranking leaders left in the city. Probably she or N’lahr should have thought of that last night. This was the beginning of a new life she didn’t want. “Eight bells,” she remembered aloud. “What time is it now?”

  “Half past six.”

  She hadn’t heard any bells whatsoever and rather thought she might have slept into the afternoon. The gods knew her body needed it. But then she thought of Thelar, likely already up and working to find the queen through contact with Varama. Her hours of sleep had been a tremendous gift.

  “Is there anything I can assist you with? Do you want breakfast?”

  She started to demur, for she wasn’t awake enough to be hungry. But she knew she would be, soon. “That would be wonderful, thank you. Are any of the other Altenerai awake?”

  “Commander N’lahr is. I haven’t seen Alten Rylin or Alten Kyrkenall.”

  “How about the exalts?”

  “I’m not sure, Alte
n. I haven’t seen any of them this morning.”

  The last had been a stupid question. If this squire were posted to the Altenerai wing of the palace he’d be unlikely to see any exalts. She wondered why N’lahr had let her sleep, then realized it wasn’t his job to get her up. That was something she should have planned for. She had much to learn.

  “Alten, can I ask you something?” The squire struggled to hide his nervousness.

  “Of course.”

  “Is it really true about the queen? That she’s got some ancient magic artifacts that are very dangerous?”

  The squire, naturally, had never heard of a hearthstone. Just as Elenai hadn’t known what they were only a few weeks ago. She could see no benefit in concealing the information, and was drawn to speak the truth in any case. “Yes, she does. They’re called hearthstones.”

  “What does she want with them?”

  “She’s convinced herself she can use them to awaken an old goddess. And she managed to convince some other people to support her new religion even though it endangers the realms.” Seeing that this information did nothing to reassure the squire, she added: “We’re going to find her, and we’re going to stop her.”

  That seemed to lift his spirits, for the young man smiled as he saluted. He bade her farewell and left.

  Elenai had just shut the door and turned away when she heard another knock. She assumed her messenger had forgotten to tell her something, so was surprised when she opened it again to discover Kyrkenall with a wicker basket of food. The crisp loaf of bread poking up along one side was so fresh it still produced curling steam.

  Kyrkenall’s magnetic black eyes were marred by dark circles. But he appeared to be in high spirits, for he grinned, then presented the basket as if certain he deserved praise.

  “I brought us some breakfast. It’s good to see you already up.”

  She mumbled a welcome and motioned him in. He took in the outer chamber with a sweeping glance to left and right. He paused in consideration of the walls, barren of any tapestries, painting, or other decor.